HDTH, Numeral Three: Chinks in the Armor
by FraidyCat
Summary: The Aftermath
1. I Feel Like Taking a Deep Breath

**Title: HDTH, Numeral 3: Chinks in the Armor**

**Author: FraidyCat**

**Summary: Important to read "How Did That Happen?" and "How Did That Happen, the Sequel" first. Our saga continues. Summary Warning: more family angst, less plot; reviews pointing this out are not necessary. Story is brief (for me), and completed, and will be posted in several chunks throughout a few days.**

**Disclaimer: The ill-behaved characters of "numb3rs", who persist in conducting periodic interventions in FraidyCat's office, do not belong to her. If they did, there would be punishment involved. This disclaimer applicable to entire story. No animals were harmed during the writing of this fanfic.**

**Chapter 1: I Feel Like Taking a Deep Breath**

Alan loomed in the open door of the refrigerator and contemplated the alternatives.

He glanced up at the clock on the wall over the refrigerator and sighed, shifting his weight a little. Finally, he grabbed the last bottle of beer and the tub of cottage cheese. He elbowed the door shut, and stopped for a spoon before he placed his dinner on the kitchen table. He pulled out his chair and sat down, not bothering with a bowl or plate.

It was an effort these days for Alan to bother with anything. In the nearly-seven months since his sons had been kidnapped and tortured by that insane Martinez-Cortez woman, he had learned again the first lesson he had tried to teach them as children: Be careful what you ask for. He expertly popped the top from the beer bottle on the edge of the table, and took a long draw, thinking that he didn't even like beer all that much. He drank if because it helped. It helped him remember happier times, when he was sharing a beer with Don, and they were watching a game together. Sometimes, Charlie would be in the living room with them, but usually he was nearby, in the dining room. He was nearly always hunched over his laptop, wherever he was, but Alan appreciated his coming in the house to work in close proximity, every now and then. He could have stayed in the garage, after all. Alan frowned, wondering if he had ever bothered to thank Charlie for that.

Alan set the bottle on the table and stirred the cottage cheese disinterestinly. Some dinner. He hadn't mustered up the energy to cook anything for weeks. There were undoubtedly some frozen leftovers from much nicer meals still up in the freezer, but the quicker he disposed of the dinner hour, the faster he could…wander around the house, and find something else to do.

He grunted in self-disgust as he lifted a spoon full of cottage cheese to his mouth. He really had no reason to sit here feeling sorry for himself. How many times had he made it perfectly clear that he wanted the boys involved in good relationships, relationships that might lead to marriage, and grandchildren? He was only getting what he wanted. It was just hard, since Colleen had finally arranged a transfer to L.A. last month, and Don had moved out of the house. The two of them were living together in a condo just a few miles away. Don had actually bought it, which encouraged Alan, a little. His oldest son had never so much as hinted at marrying Colleen, but they were obviously putting down roots of some kind.

The cottage cheese was sour, and he spit it back out and looked accusingly at the container. Charlie still lived here, but he might as well not. He was almost manic about work since his physical recovery, in a way that made Alan fear there had not yet been an emotional recovery. When he wasn't on campus, or consulting for Don, or in the garage, Charlie was with Debbie. His youngest son had always had boundless energy, but his frenetic pace the last few months truly concerned Alan.

He got up and dumped the container of cottage cheese in the trash, and considered, honestly. He was willing to admit that he might be a little more worried about Charlie than he had to be, because Alan had not developed a love of Debbie, as of yet. He shook his head, not understanding. The woman was a nurse, but she didn't seem all that nurturing to him. Maybe it was like Don had suggested, the one time Alan had tried to talk to him about Debbie. Perhaps she had to take a break from it, after working all day as a professional sympathetic. Or, maybe she was just one of those people that it took a little time to get to know. The Lord Above knew plenty of people had seen Charlie that way, over the years. It probably shouldn't surprise Alan that his son should be drawn to his own type, in a way. Plus…Alan knew Don was right when he said that the two of them tended to spoil Charlie, and it was probably good for him to be with someone who wasn't a pushover.

Still, he thought, as he headed aimlessly for the living room, giving up on dinner, he loved Colleen, and it would be nice to feel the same way about Charlie's…girlfriend. Alan had seen how perfect Colleen was for Don almost from the beginning — even when she was 'married' to Charlie. He grinned to himself and sank into his easy chair, drawing once more on the bottle of beer. Talk about awkward!

Of course, he had never said anything remotely negative to Charlie about Debbie. For one thing, he was still like a child that way: Letting him know you were unhappy about something tended to insure that he would do that very thing. More importantly, Don had told Alan about the talk he and Charlie had in the hospital, when Charlie had told him a story about Margaret and urged him to pursue Colleen. The story had really been the start of Alan's descent into whatever claimed him now. It had brought Margaret back to him in a way so intense, it was like losing her all over again. It had made him evaluate his own relationship with Charlie's boss, Millie. He enjoyed her friendship, especially the months that his chess partner was floating around space somewhere, but when he thought of Millie in comparison to Margaret…. Well, there was no comparison. He still hoped that one day he could find another companion to grow old with, but having had the best, he realized that he could not settle for a casual friendship. He had been careful since then to make sure that Millie was only invited to things that included other mutual friends. He did not want to send the wrong message. At least Larry was back, and still a reliable – if slightly quirky – friend. Even though he was firmly embroiled in his own partnership with Megan, he managed to come by the house regularly, for chess, or just to chat. Alan snorted quietly. In fact, he may have seen Larry more than he had Charlie, the last few months.

He forced himself to think about better things, things other than the fact that he seemed to be the only one without a partner, these days. It was very good news, for instance, that his sons still wanted just the three of them to have a vacation together, this summer. Charlie was teaching summer school first session, but had declined to teach during the second. Don had actually taken three consecutive weeks of vacation for the first time in his career, and the time was finally almost here. Both Don and Charlie had insisted that Alan choose the destination and activity — woudn't hear otherwise — and that touched him deeply. It was much more special that they wanted to do something with him, and something of his choice, than they knew. Sometimes, on lonely nights like this one, the knowledge still brought him to tears.

He brightened a little. That's what he could do. He could start packing for the trip, even though it was several days away. _Well_, he admitted as he heaved himself out of the chair and headed for the stairs, _he could pack again._ He had actually started packing almost two weeks ago.

He hoped, with a slight twinge of guilt, that his sons would enjoy themselves. He wasn't sure why he had chosen what he had himself. He hadn't done this in years. Decades. Perhaps it was the reminiscent mood he had found himself in as of late, and a desire to recapture something he had enjoyed as a younger man. It sounded so relaxing, and the solitude promised to make him a happy man. He would have Don and Charlie to himself, virtually 24/7, for the first time in years – and maybe the last.

He squared his shoulders as he took the stairs to his room. Go ahead. Call him a selfish bastard.

He was still taking his boys fishing.


	2. Industrial Size Hair Gel

**Title: HDTH, Numeral 3: Chinks in the Armor**

**Author: FraidyCat**

**Chapter 2: Industrial-Size Hair Gel?**

A few days later, the ink hardly dry on their new fishing licenses, the three Eppes carefully packed the back of Don's SUV.

Feeling he should temper his obvious joy with something, Alan handed Don a fishing pole and watched him shove it behind the new tent Charlie had insisted they needed. He still thought the old one would have been fine, even if no-one had used it in almost 15 years…or maybe it was 20…. "You two are sure you're all right with this, now?", he asked again, trying not to tapdance in anticipation.

Charlie came around the corner of the SUV lugging a stuffed-to-the-gills backpack. He eyed Alan and smiled. "Dad. I don't want to be on the road for a full five minutes and have you start whining about needing to find a bathroom."

Don laughed loudly and Alan reddened. He pointed to the pack and changed the subject. "What are you bringing, anyway? We agreed, no work."

"It's not…", Charlie started, but Don interrupted him as he helped lift the pack into the SUV.

"It's probably just hair product," he teased, effectively placing the backpack between his face and Charlie's glare.

Alan was happy the attention had moved off him, but still a little worried. He grinned at Charlie over Don's head. "Seriously, son," he pushed. "No laptop? No PDA? And we agreed, just one cell phone for the three of us, and we only use it if we're attacked by bears, or something."

Don grunted, still trying to fit the pack into the SUV. "Damn thing's so heavy, he must have the _desktop_ in here. Better make him promise to leave that behind, too," he muttered.

Charlie flamed red and looked sulkily at his father. "I didn't break any rules. I finished grading last night, and e-mailed everything to the Division Secretary. I need some clothes," he whined. "You never said I had to wear the same clothes for three weeks."

Alan watched Don continue to struggle and shook his head. "Charlie, you're the smallest one of us. Your clothes shouldn't take up more room than your brother's and mine together."

With a final _oomph_, Don secured the pack and stepped back with a sigh. "He's going to dress in professorsorial layers in the wilds of Oregon," he complained good-naturedly, a twinkle in his eye. "Gonna be the only one in the campground with a button-down shirt, a tastefully muted sweater and a jacket with patches on the elbows."

Alan smiled and Charlie lifted an eyebrow at his brother. "_Professorsorial_? I vote for a new rule. No six-syllable words on this vacation. Assuming that even is a word."

Don glanced around to see if anything else had to be jammed into the back of the SUV. He suppressed a shiver at an unbidden memory. He found himself feeling sorry for the cargo – he knew what it was like to ride back here. "Not kidding, Chuck," he said, in a tone a little less light than it had been. "We find one of those items on this trip, it's going swimming with the fishes."

Alan glanced at the sun, now high in the sky, and began tapdancing again, just a little. "Let's go," he said anxiously. "Everyone got everything?" He tilted his head and didn't wait for an answer. "Larry and Megan will come by later and stay at the house while their place is being remodeled, so we don't have to worry about the koi…" He suddenly paled and looked worriedly at Don. "Unless…what if Megan gets called out of town, or inundated with work while you're gone? Larry will never remember. Maybe I should run across the street and speak with the Tanners."

Ordinarily Charlie would be the first to point out Larry's absent-mindedness, but he was still slightly out of sorts from Don's teasing. "Dad. His mind was good enough for NASA." He flashed on the story Larry had told about being in space for almost four months before he got the names of the other crew members down. "Besides, even if she's busy somewhere, Megan will call and remind him," he added, lamely.

Don slammed the back of the SUV. "Listen to you two," he said jovially. "Fighting over fish already." He shot a grin at his father and patted him on the shoulder as he headed for the driver's door. "Climb in, and have your tickets ready for the conductor." Don felt a little guilty being so happy. Colleen had just gotten here and they were finally together, he really should feel worse about leaving her behind. He would miss her, he mused, as he climbed in behind the wheel, especially since he couldn't even call her for three weeks. One of Dad's ridiculous rules was that they could only send letters and souvenir postcards, while they were gone. He honestly was relieved they were all getting away together, though, just the three of them. The Martinez-Cortez kidnapping had been hard on all of them, physically and emotionally. They had all gotten back to their "normal", busy lives as soon as they could, which was understandable…but it had left him, for one, feeling as if something was still broken. He and his father and his brother really needed some time to just be together, and be happy.

Especially Charlie. Alan wasn't the only one who had noticed the younger man's frenetic energy. Don had seen a psychiatrist himself for a few months, and in Don's expert opinion, Charlie was not allowing himself a spare second, because he did not want to face what he had been through. Yeah…Don was an expert on that technique, all right.

He started the engine and checked the rear view mirror to see if Alan was buckled up in back. Charlie got carsick if he sat anywhere but in the front. When he was satisfied that Alan was set, Don turned fond eyes to Charlie, who was strapped in and already consulting a map, even though the three of them had been to Oregon on more than one occasion in their lives. It's not like it was all that far away.

"I think I've located an alternative route with interesting potential," he began. He felt Don's eyes on him and looked up, frowning. "What?"

Don shifted into reverse. He smiled broadly as he backed them out of the driveway. "I'm just happy, Chuck, that's all. You remember 'happy', right?" He had been teasing, but as he caught sight of Charlie's face when he turned his head to check traffic on the street, Don felt a chill.

He suddenly wasn't sure his brother _did_ remember 'happy'.


	3. Bonding

**Title: HDTH, Numeral 3: Chinks in the Armor**

**Author: FraidyCat**

**Chapter 3: Bonding**

The Eppes spent that first night in Eureka, California, claiming two rooms at a historic bed-and-breakfast. It was Alan's way of thanking Don and Charlie for agreeing to the fishing trip. They could have made their Southern Oregon destination in one (very) long day, but they wanted to arrive at the private fishing camp on the Rogue River with plenty of daylight, so they could set up. Eureka was beautiful, on the ocean, and only four hours away, so it had seemed a reasonable choice to Alan.

To his credit, Charlie did not start fishing early. He didn't even suggest a quick tour of College of the Redwoods, where he could no doubt drum up something that would entertain him. A future speaking engagement, or the barely suppressed adulation of math and science faculty. Alan had long ago stopped being surprised when his son was recognized virtually anywhere in the world of academia. He watched the lined and tired face of his youngest across the dinner table that night, and wasn't sure his lack of interest was a good thing.

By 6 the next morning, Alan was chatting it up with the owners of the B&B, bragging about both of his sons and gushing about their vacation. The relaxed, homey atmosphere of the place appealed to him immediately, and relaxed his tongue. Over blueberry pancakes, Alan began to wonder if he should find a nice place in Pasadena and open his own B&B. He loved people, he loved to cook…and he was used to cleaning up after Charlie, after all. That had to qualify him for something. Plus, it would give his life a sense of purpose, now that he had retired for the second time.

He mulled over the possibilities while he tried to be patient enough to let the boys sleep in a little. They were on vacation, and that was part of vacation, wasn't it? It was a chore, restraining himself — he could feel the King Salmon tugging on his line already. He didn't make if until 7 o'clock. Soon, Alan was back upstairs in the double room he had shared with Don (who either won or lost the coin toss, depending on your point of view), accidentally making as much noise as possible. The third time he stood next to Don's bed and dropped the can of shaving cream, he apologized profusely when his son groaned and glared at him out of one eye, and bent over to pick up the can to disguise the fact that he was grinning like a maniac.

As he had known he would, the rudely awakened Don felt he had to share his misfortune with his brother. Alan managed to let them shuffle in a haze through breakfast while he re-packed the SUV. Then he hovered in the doorway of the B&B's dining room until Don sighed loudly and looked at Charlie. "We'll let him drive, so we can sleep the rest of the way. Besides, with the nervous energy he's putting off, we won't need to stop for gas."

Alan had been about to defend himself when he saw Charlie smile almost sadly over a half-eaten scrambled egg. One scrambled egg, and he didn't even have the appetite to handle that. "Fine," he shrugged, scooting back his chair and starting to stand. "I'm done here anyway."

Frowning, Alan met Don's eyes for an instant before he assumed Jewish Father. "Bring the toast, Charlie," he ordered, turning to leave. "You'll get hungry later. You always get hungry on the road, and we _are not_ stopping." He led the way to the SUV and didn't look back as he said it…but he did hope, in his heart, that it was true.

………………………………………………………………………………………………

With Alan at the wheel, the Eppes made good time. He stayed on Highway 101 as long as he could, so he could at least enjoy the passing ocean while he drove. For a while, he pretended that Don's soft snoring was the sound of crashing waves. He was embarrassed, surprised, guilty and just a tiny bit pleased when he heard Charlie's voice beside him a few hours into the ride. He had thought his youngest son was asleep, also.

"I know what you're doing," Charlie accused him softly. "He's not really snoring that loud."

A snort of laughter escaped Alan. "I have an impressive imagination. And it's not like I had anything else to do. I thought you were asleep. Now that I know you're not, we can talk."

In his field of peripheral vision, he saw Charlie stiffen a little. His son looked at him apprehensively. "Are you getting tired of driving? Do you want me to take over, for a while?"

Alan was enjoying piloting the vehicle toward relief, and he reassured Charlie. "I feel fine. I'll let you know if I need a break."

Charlie nodded and turned his head back to gaze out the front windshield. He slumped as far as his seat belt would let him. "Do you mind if I sleep, too? Instead of talking, I mean. You can play the stereo, it won't bother me."

Alan's heart fell, and if Charlie had been watching, like Don was in the reflection of the rear-view mirror, he would have seen that his face did, also. He gripped the wheel a little tighter. "That's fine, Charlie," he said with as much enthusiasm as he could muster. "I guess I did get you up kind-of early."

Charlie nodded again, relaxed his head against the seat and closed his eyes. After a moment of silent relection, Don closed his again, too.

The vehicle made the switch to Interstate 5, and then Highway 66 in Southern Oregon before he woke up again. Don straightened and stretched in the back seat, yawning, looking out the window in slight disorientation. "What happened to the ocean?", he mumbled.

Alan stopped humming off-key with Neil Diamond's Greatest Hits and snapped off the music. He smiled into the mirror. "It's about three hours behind us. We're almost there!"

Don looked at his watch in surprise. "Almost there? You drove the whole way? Dad, I was just kidding when I said Charlie and I would sleep and make you do all the driving. You should have woken me up!"

Charlie stirred at the sound of voices, but didn't open his eyes. "S'matter?" he asked the leather seat cushion he had been drooling on for the last hour.

Don kicked the back of his seat. "Wake up and stop ruining the upholstery, Chuck! Dad says we're almost there!"

Charlie shifted his butt away from Don's offending foot, clearly not awake yet. "Marble rye and cream cheese," he mumbled, and while Don groaned and kicked the seat again, Alan laughed out loud. Charlie was sleeping, and apparently hungry. Don was cranky, and in the mood to dish out some serious Big Brother Torment.

Life didn't get any better than this.


	4. Too Much Information

**Title: HDTH, Numeral 3: Chinks in the Armor**

**Author: FraidyCat**

**Chapter 4: Too Much Information**

Once fully awake and standing between his brother and his father while the guide pointed out their campsite and delivered a rapid-fire recitation of "the rules", Charlie couldn't help retreating a step at the apparition. He was responsible for finding this private camp/fishing guide after an extensive Google search, but it had never occurred to him that "Lou Anderson" was a woman.

At least, most evidence pointed that way.

The voice was a little strained, and low, as if there had been too many cigarettes or too much yelling, over the years. The clothes — boots, jeans, a tattered t-shirt and an even more tattered flannel overshirt — were no help. Nor was the hair. Short, functional, no fuss-no muss, asexual style. Still, she stood with her hands on her hips in a decidedly-female pose, and Charlie was pretty sure those were…bumps…under the shirts. Most disconcerting, Alan seemed quite pleased with the turn of events.

Of course, there was always hope that Alan was just still on his "vacation-with-my-sons" high, and was just being as friendly to her as he was to the B&B owners. It was entirely possible that Charlie was not standing here watching his father flirt with the Bride of Sasquatch, the roar of the Rogue serving as mood music. He shuddered a little, involuntarily, when he realized that Millie might not be so bad, after all.

Whether Don noticed the slight shudder or was also imagining the horrific possibilities, Charlie was relieved when his older brother managed to extricate them all from the situation, herd them back into the SUV and head for the campsite the guide had indicated. Mid-July in Southern Oregon was a sportsman's paradise, and the private camp was full. Even though Charlie had found the place in early March, it was already fully reserved, and they had languished on a waiting list for almost two months before someone dropped out and a spot opened up. Alan had just about been ready to check himself into a nice, quiet, retirement home, anxious beyond belief. He had come to believe that the camping, the fishing trip, were integral to the vacation. He did not want to give them up and suggest something else – yet he was loathe that one or both of his sons would drop out before everything was settled.

Actually, he had been worried about that until they were at least an hour out of L.A., yesterday. He was especially concerned about Don. There were times that Alan was convinced Don believed he was the only capable law enforcement agent in any organization in the country. He wondered sometimes, a little frightened, how long Don and Colleen would remain so non-competitive about the whole thing, and why they were so compatible in the first place.

After almost three hours struggling with the tent Charlie had insisted would be so much easier to put up than the one they had used when the boys were small, Alan found out more than he wanted to about that.

When they had set-up camp, the three had walked around the campground, taking in the promises and peace of the nearby river. His sons may have rolled their eyes behind his back, but they were polite when Alan insisted on stopping at each and every camp where someone was "home", and introducing them all. The forced attitude was exhausting to Charlie, who had been left pretty much to his own devices after his first few weeks out of the hospital. He had soon developed the technique of never being in the same place too long, lest someone get close. He had never mentioned it to his brother or father, but he had actually cut his office hours in half this semester. Even when he was on campus and not teaching, he found it difficult to be as…available as he had been in the past. Often, he would quietly close and lock the office door and just sit at his desk or work at his boards until he had to leave and face people, again. Now, in his exhaustion, he found himself thinking idly that it was a good thing they had not brought one of those fancy new "camp ovens". If they had, Alan would have baked everyone cookies as soon as they arrived.

At least one of their new neighbors had provided them with dinner, part of his bounty from the day's catch. Alan had proudly stopped at the cleaning station to gut and fillet the fish, pleased the skill came back to him so easily. Charlie had been fishing before – as a boy, growing up with Alan as his father, and as an adult – so he knew what was coming. Still he was unprepared for the sudden brutality and flying fish parts, and he was more than happy to go with Don to the community firewood supply and pick up a few bundles for the evening. He was still so pale by the time they got there that Don insisted he only carry a few chunks of wood, while he staggered under the weight of three bundles.

It wasn't even beginning to grow dark yet by the time dinner was finished, and it wouldn't for at least three more hours. However, the guide has stomped into their camp earlier to remind them that the group going fishing would leave at 5 in the morning. She brusquely suggested that they get to bed early, since they were no doubt unused to the rugged life cityfolk thought qualified as a "vacation", and by 7 in the evening they could see some of the other campers heading for their tents, already. Even though he had slept most of the way there, Charlie was ready to follow suit, but he could see that Alan and Don wanted to sit by the campfire and watch the river flow by in the distance. He determined silently to try a little harder. As he made that resolution, he heard Don sigh.

"You sure about this phone thing, Dad? I sure would like to talk to Colleen." He spoke almost wistfully. "I know she's only been in L.A. a few weeks, but I'm not sure I can sleep without her." Don was – mostly – just teasing Alan. He _would_ love to talk to Colleen, but he had readily agreed to the "no contact" aspect of the vacation. Their attention needed to be on each other, for a while. Alan looked a little guilty, so Don went in for the kill. "Not to mention the sex. Have I mentioned the incredible sex?"

Charlie choked on the coffee he had been drinking, and Alan thumped on his back and glared at Don. "Donald Alan! Are you familiar with the concept of 'too much information'?"

Don grinned. "What?", he asked innocently. "It's just us guys here, Dad. It's not as if you're unaware of the fact that I have sexual relations with women – you've known that since I was 16, right?"

Charlie's choking gave way to a slight chuckle as Alan protested further. "Don't think I haven't spent many a day trying to forget that, young man! I still run into little Lorrie Peters at the grocery every now and then, and I always stammer like a fool, even though she's married and has half-a-dozen kids herself, now!"

Don laughed and Charlie, giggling by now, raised an eyebrow at him. Lorrie Peters? He remembered Lorrie Peters – he and Don had gone to high school with her. As far as Charlie had known, Don and Lorrie had never dated. Apparently his brother was "cutting to the chase" back then.

Don continued to raz Alan. "All right, I can see that situation must have been uncomfortable to walk in on, but Dad, really. I'm 38 years old, now. What do you think Colleen and I do in our spare time? Play chess?"

Charlie giggled harder. Alan had _walked in on _Don and Lorrie? He was still watching Don and didn't notice the twinkle in Alan's eye as he listened to Charlie's laughter. Alan tried hard to keep it out of his voice, and appear affronted, although he knew that at this point Don was performing for Charlie as well. "I realize that it's a natural function, Don, but that does not mean we have to share intimate details. There are certain things a father just should not know about his children." Alan faltered a little then, remembering things he wished he did not know about what Don and Charlie had been through just a few months earlier.

Don noticed and pushed valiantly forward. "Dad. I thought we could share anything."

Alan _hrumphed_. "Son. Bowel movements are also a natural function, but so far you have not felt the need to share those details – and I appreciate that." He let a little worry show in his voice. "Unless there's a problem I should know about? You'd tell me if there was a problem, wouldn't you?"

By this time, Charlie was almost rolling into the fire, tears streaming down his face. His giggling bordered on manic, and Don tried to rein him in a little, even though he was enjoying it as much as Alan. "What are you laughing at, Chuck? I was traumatized for years. You don't know what it's like to have your own father witness your first time."

Charlie gasped and wiped at his face. "Can't be any worse than your mother," he blurted, and the reaction was genuine.

"_WHAT?",_ insisted Don, leaning forward a little, at the same time that Alan turned a shocked face to Charlie.

"Oh, my Lord. Charles Edward! My poor, sweet, Margaret…"

Charlie beamed at them. "The two of you. You think all I ever did at Princeton was study."


	5. When I Wish Upon A Star

**Title: HDTH, Numeral 3: Chinks in the Armor**

**Author: FraidyCat**

**Chapter 5: When I Wish Upon A Star…**

The release of laughter combined with the lull of the river and the fresh air to knock them all out fairly early – and made 4 a.m. arrive too quickly. Even so, when Don emerged from the tent into the darkness, he was somewhat startled to see Charlie sitting cross-legged on a square of tarp beside the recently stoked campfire, chewing on a granola bar and waiting for the pot of coffee to percolate. He had stepped over the lump of Charlie's sleeping bag in the tent assuming he was still in it.

Don could smell breakfasts cooking all over the campground. The glowing fires and the stars – actual stars! – still visible in the sky threatened to turn him around. He felt as if it was just now time to go to bed. Don pulled his coat tighter around him in the early morning coolness and started to sit on the opposite side of the fire. "Nice breakfast, Buddy. How long have you been out here?"

Charlie swallowed and moved over a little on the tarp. "Ground's damp," he warned, just as Don's rear end made that discovery itself. He jerked back up, deciding quickly to join Charlie.

He perched on the edge of the tarp, shoving at Charlie. "Make room," he ordered, and Charlie moved over a little more. Don held his hands out near the fire. "Fishing was Dad's idea. Why is he the last one up?"

Charlie murmured around his granola, and Don studied his profile. He was beginning to wonder if Charlie had spent much time in the tent at all, when his brother tilted his head to the sky and pointed with one finger. "That's around where Larry was," he observed. "I can't believe you can see the stars, here. At home I have to take the telescope out…and they manufacture them differently these days, to deal with all the light pollution."

Don followed Charlie's finger and agreed. "Hard to believe it's actually the same sky." His tone was casual and friendly, and he hoped the next statement was perceived in a non-threatenting manner. "So, you've been star-gazing all night?"

Charlie looked at him briefly, then at the fire. "Not all night," he answered. "Couple of hours, maybe." He looked back at Don and grinned. "Your snoring is a lot louder in a tent."

"Hey," Don protested. "You're the one who thought we should all use one big tent, instead of the smaller individual ones. And you could have at least have started a decent breakfast for all of us."

Charlie indicated the coffee pot on the campfire grill. "I did."

Don shrugged, not quite ready to give Charlie a hard time yet this morning. "Yeah," he finally agreed grudgingly. "If I only get one thing for breakfast at 4 in the freakin' morning, I guess it should probably be coffee."

"If you want more, there's cereal and milk in the coolers," Charlie offered.

Don glared at him, for all the good it did in the near-dark. "Any more of those?" he countered, tilting his head toward the granola bar.

Charlie shoved the last bite in his mouth. "Uh-uh," he said, chewing. "Coat pocket."

Don sighed, and watched the coffee begin to percolate. "Are the mugs over here somewhere, or do I have to get up and go get one?", he whined.

Charlie leaned over, reaching, and Don used the opportunity to push him farther off the tarp. Charlie straightened back up clutching a tin mug, grumbling, trying to reclaim his territory with his skinny butt. "I shouldn't let you have this," he sulked, and Don laughed and wrenched it out of his hand. Charlie looked at him, and Don could see the wounded eyes in the firelight. "Ow! Did you get up on the wrong side of the sleeping bag this morning?"

Don poured himself some coffee and shoved back over. "I'm just kidding around," he said, looking to see if Charlie had another mug. "Don't you want any?" Charlie shook his head and Don lowered the coffee pot back to the fire. He sipped at his coffee and regarded his brother. "Something wrong?"

Charlie actually laughed. "Well," he began, "I don't think I've slept more than four consecutive hours in seven months, and I had to work at picking that coffee pot up for over an hour. It looks just like the one Junior used on me. Just looking at it makes my leg hurt. It was no big deal last night, because Dad dealt with it; I just accepted the mug he handed me. Kind-of took me by surprise, this morning."

Don lowered his mug, surprised himself at Charlie's sudden honesty and sickened by the memory. He really didn't want coffee anymore, either.Thinking back to dinner the night before, Charlie hadn't finished the cup of coffee Alan gave him, and even circled the fire grill elaborately to get to the pan of fish. Don couldn't believe he had been so stupid. He set the mug on the ground. "Charlie. I'm…"

Charlie interrupted him. "Please. Don't say you're sorry. Let's just not talk about it." He stood up in one fluid motion that made Don's knees hurt. "I'm going to see if Dad's about ready. Something tells me Brunhilda won't suffer latecomers to her fishing fleet."

…………………………………………………………………………………………

Both of the boys seemed subdued this morning, but that could be because they were more used to _staying_ up until 4 in the morning than they were to _getting_ up at 4 in the morning, so Alan tried not to take it too seriously. He managed to talk them into at least chewing on some bagels and cream cheese while he wolfed down some cereal. Then he supervised the division of fishing equipment, and the fine art of getting into brand new Neoprene chest waders. They doused the campfire and grabbed their tackle and poles, and made it to the small dock in plenty of time to be assigned to one of the first drift boats going out. It was Lou's personal craft, and she was piloting. Alan was pleased that the camp owner would be taking them out herself, and he couldn't understand why Charlie didn't share his enthusiasm. Alan found Lou to be a breath of fresh air.

At least, he did, until the second time she told him in no uncertain terms to shut up. By then the sun was rising, and it was easy to see the disdain in her eyes for all of their new, unused equipment, too.

The boat held Lou and five fishermen. Charlie sat hunched and silent, as close to Don – and as far away from everyone else – as he could get. Don sat glumly beside him. Alan started to make a comment about the beautiful landscape, Lou told him to shut up, and the milk he had consumed for breakfast began to sour in his stomach.

_It's only the first day_, he told himself, and he held his tongue until Lou brought the boat close to shore a little ways downstream and told them all to "get the hell out and fish".

Then he began to sputter indignantly. "Now, see here, Ms. Anderson. We did not pay good money to be treated…"

She snorted loudly at him and shook her head. "Money. That's what it always comes down to with you cityfolk. 'Sides, what you paid all that 'good money' for was a slice of the authentic, ain't it? Don't get no more damn authentic than me, mister. Ya wanta fish, or not?"

Alan thought he heard another tiny giggle escape Charlie, like last night at the campfire, and he decided that maybe he would put up with the insufferable woman a little longer.


	6. First Catch

**Title: HDTH, Numeral 3: Chinks in the Armor**

**Author: FraidyCat**

**Chapter 6: First Catch (Language Warning. Don gets mad.)**

An hour later, Charlie wasn't laughing.

Standing nearly waist-deep in the swiftly flowing river, trying harder just to stay on his feet than he cared to admit, Alan had been excited when he heard a familiar yelp off to his side, and then the unmistakable splash of a fish fighting against a line. He struggled to wade over to help Charlie reel in, if he needed it. Charlie had looked at him with nothing short of terror, and shoved the pole in his hands before Alan knew what was coming.

In the ensuing melee, Alan dropped his own brand new pole, and Charlie tried to backpedal as fast as he could. The river was unforgiving of scurrying, however, and Alan watched in horror as Charlie stumbled and tipped over backwards, soon disappearing under the ripples.

Don had started for Charlie at the same time as Alan, from the other side, downstream. His own pole was quickly sacrificed when something larger than a fish hit him underwater, nearly taking him down as well. Instintively, he lowered his hands into the icy depths and miraculously, latched onto Charlie's hair.

He would know that hair anywhere, and while the river tried to claim his brother, Don pulled against it with all his might. Suddenly Charlie popped out of the river like a cork out of a champagne bottle, and again it was all Don could do to keep from going under himself. Somehow, he managed to move one hand from Charlie's hair to his arm.

By this time Lou had waded up behind him. In one hand she held Alan's fishing pole, which she had caught as it drifted past her, and with the other she grabbed Charlie's other arm. Her body stood solidly at Don's back, bracing him. She jerked roughly with her strong, weathered hand, and Charlie found his feet. "Head for the bank," she ground out, as if the two brothers needed to be encouraged in that direction.

The other two in the party, a married couple from Ohio, they had learned on the trip to the fishing spot, were still heading for them. They had been farther downstream, but had heard the commotion and started straining against the water with far less experience and success than Lou had. Now that they saw everyone heading for the bank, they cut in that direction as well.

Bringing up the rear, Alan still gripped Charlie's pole in a death-grip of fear, not even realizing he still had it. The fish was long gone. Lou moved them all toward the lowest part of the shoreline, which still had a few feet of vertical mud to negotiate until you made your way up into a small clearing where she always set her guests up with sack lunches. Once there, she tossed Alan's fishing pole onto the ground and began roughly pushing Charlie and Don up onto the bank.

As Alan felt her pull the pole out of his hand and start to urge him up to the clearing, he heard her grumbling angrily. "Damn city people. More trouble than they're worth." He would have stopped to drown her himself, but he was too distracted by Charlie's coughing, which had not stopped since his brother pulled him out of the river, and he scrambled up the mud as fast as he could.

Alan hit the grassy area on his knees, and he didn't bother to stand. He just crawled the few feet to where Don half-sat, half-lay, one hand still holding Charlie's upper arm, the other protectively on his supine brother's back. Alan quickly cupped Don's face with one hand, then reached out to Charlie, who was coughing less, and struggling to sit up. "Oh, God. Boys, are you all right?"

Don, face pale and shivering from cold and fright, tried to smile and reassure his father. "I got a big one, Dad. Couldn't bring it in by myself, though."

Charlie had obtained some altitude and he shot Don a look. He took a breath, which caused another coughing fit, but kept nodding his head as much as his father's searching hands would let him. "F-f-fine," he finally managed to say. "I'm o-o-okay. S-s-sorry."

Curls drenched and flattened against his head, the stark whiteness of his face standing out under the day's stubble, Charlie looked anything but fine. But he could talk, he didn't appear to have broken anything, and they were all safe on the shore. Alan worked at calming the mad beating of his heart. His hand still worked through Charlie's hair, dislodging bits of debris, as he locked eyes with Don. "Thank-you," he said, almost reverently. "Donnie, thank-you…"

Don shrugged uncomfortably. What did his Dad think, that he had a choice in the matter? Did he think that Don would not give his life for Charlie?

Alan had dropped his hand to Charlie's leg, and looked at Lou and the others, who still stood at the edge of the water. "They're both soaked. We need to get them back to camp and dry them off." He regretted not stopping to drown the woman when she all-but sneered at him.

"Charters head back for camp at 2 p.m. Just a little water. Slickers seem fine to me. Lost one of your poles, though. The three of you will have to share."

Alan made a disbelieving sound of protest, and heard the soft murmur of the woman from Ohio. "Really, Ms. Anderson, we don't mind going back early. We're here all week. The poor guys really are soaked…"

Lou assessed Charlie and Don one more time before she dismissed them. "Y'all understand money," she said. "You think the rights to this section of river come free? I got an investment to protect myself. As long as I've got fishermen in the water, ain't nobody gonna sneak in on my claim." She nodded her head, once. " 'Sides, can't run a business lessen you got a strong set of rules everybody understands. Charters head back to camp at 2."

Don had suffered just about enough. He wasn't all that wet, himself – he had never gone completely under, and the chest wader had done its job – but Charlie was a drowned rat. He started to get to his feet so he could tower over the woman in a stance of intimidation, but the younger man was leaning pretty heavily on him, so he settled for his best interrogation-room stone-face. "If you don't take my brother back to camp now, you'll loose this damn claim and your little guide business faster than you can say 'attorney'. Assuming you can manage that many syllables at all, of course."

Charlie opened his mouth to try to reassure everyone and end the impasse, but ended up coughing again, with a pathetic wheeze added at the end. He felt his father's grip tighten on his leg. He watched with fascination as Lou matched Don's glare. "Got me one-a them A-turn-eys myself," she said mildly. "He tells me a breech of contract means I can kick anybody I want outta my camp. No refund."

This time Don stood up, after making sure Charlie could sit on his own. He looked down on Lou Anderson with contempt. "Not a fucking problem," he answered. "Move your ass and drag that drift boat over here."

Charlie sneezed, and another quart of river water ran out his nose. Before his father or brother could react, the fisherman from Ohio cleared his throat. "Actually, Ms. Anderson…. I may not have mentioned this. I sort-of am an attorney. Attorney-General. State of Ohio. One can correctly assume I have a few professional contacts in most states. Now, my wife has assured you that we don't mind returning to camp early today. Perhaps you can consider bending the rules, just this once?"

A slow smile took over Don's face. Alan grinned, and Charlie just shivered. Lou looked at the man and his wife for a moment, then took off without answering, wading through the water for the drift boat. She mumbled all the way. "Damn Internet. Damn Gaggle, or Giggle, or whatever it is. Troublemakers, every last one of 'em. Nuthin' but troublemakers."


	7. Should I Stay or Should I Go, Now?

**Title: HDTH, Numeral 3: Chinks in the Armor**

**Author: FraidyCat**

**Chapter 7: "Should I Stay or Should I Go, Now?"**

By the time Charlie got back from the longest hot shower of his life, immensely grateful that the private campground had much nicer facilities than most state or county parks, he found his father throwing things haphazardly into the back of the SUV. Don was standing over the fire, sullen.

Charlie sat at the picnic table and put his hand on top of the last cooler before Alan could grab it. "What's going on?"

Alan turned at his voice and surveyed him silently. Don kicked at the fire grate. "Dad wants to leave," he informed his brother.

Charlie stood up again, distraught. "What? No, Dad, it was my fault. This is why I brought so many clothes," he tried to joke. When it didn't fly, he walked toward the SUV. "Dad, I'm fine. I don't want to leave, really."

Alan was still incredibly angry, and he rested his hands at his wasit. "Charlie, that woman should be in jail. Besides, we don't even have three fishing poles, anymore. We'll do something else, maybe drive up the coast and stay wherever we find vacancies." He frowned and turned back to the SUV. "I never should have suggested this anyway. Selfish. Should've been enough for me that you boys even wanted to spend time together as a family." He was muttering to himself as he struggled with the cooler he had already brought to the vehicle, but Don and Charlie had no trouble hearing him in the quiet campground.

Charlie stood between Alan and Don. He glanced at his brother and got an almost imperceptible nod. He looked at Alan's back. "No, Dad, fishing was a good idea. I love camping, you know that. I've…been fishing before…"

Alan pivoted, eyebrows raised. "Been awhile, apparently."

Charlie sighed, and continued to try and talk his Dad into staying. "Look, I don't mind not fishing, you two can use the poles." He looked a little embarrassed and dropped his gaze to his feet. "As soon as I felt that fish fighting the line this morning, I just panicked. It…brought back too much, Dad. I just don't have the heart for it, anymore." He tried to smile, looking back up. "I don't object to you guys enjoying yourselves, though, really. I even promise to eat whatever you bring back. Within reason."

Alan sagged until he was sitting in the open cargo area of the SUV. His anger still simmered, but now he felt even worse for ever suggesting this activity in the first place. Not only was it selfish because fishing was one of _his_ favorite past-times, and not _theirs;_ it was selfish because he had never even considered that it was the sort of thing Charlie in particular might have some issues with, now. "Son, I'm sorry. I should have thought. This is all the more reason we should leave."

Charlie advanced a few feet and sat next to him on the edge of the cargo area. He rubbed his hands nervously over his thighs. "But Dad, it's so beautiful here. There's more than fishing. I'm sure I could find some maps, or Lou could recommend someone to guide me…I'd love to do some hiking while we're here." He gazed at the mountains that seemed to surround them on every side. "I brought my boots. Just in case."

Alan shook his head. "You go one way and Don and I go the other? What kind of family vacation is that?"

Don had been studying Charlie and decided to come down on his side. If his brother was willing to face the coffee pot on the campfire and confront any number of other demons, then he should be surrounded by his family, in a place that brought him peace, while he did it. "You're just thinking of day hikes, right Charlie? You'll still be here with us in the late afternoon and evening."

Charlie flashed him a relieved look and nodded. "Right. Of course." He looked back at Alan. "I didn't bring my computer, honest, Dad – but I did bring the new digital camera. Look at this place. If I went hiking, I could get some incredible shots. Plus, some days I might go along with you, and just not fish. I stopped at the Jameson's campsite on the way back from my shower, and he's fairly certain Lou won't come near any of us again, or put us in her personal boat, either!"

Don weighed in again. "Besides, Dad, it's the middle of July. Do you really think we'd find very many vacancies anywhere on the road? Campgrounds, motels, anything?"

Alan felt himself weakening. He looked down and mumbled into his shirt. "I hate that woman."

Charlie laughed, and started coughing again. Still, he managed to strangle out a "Good. Was worried, for awhile."

Alan thumped him on the back. "You shouldn't be outdoors after that dunking. You probably need to see a doctor." He didn't hold out much hope for his next tactic, but he tried anyway. "This counts as an emergency. You can use the phone and call Debbie. She'll tell you to go straight to the nearest ER and then come right home." At least, Alan hoped she would.

His voice, and lack of conviction, had betrayed him. Charlie blinked at him a few times, looked at Don and then returned his gaze to Alan. "You don't like her much, do you?", he asked sadly.

Alan started to protest, but found he didn't have the energy. "It's…it's not that I dislike her," he finally admitted. "I honestly don't know her that well. She's a little hard to get to know, don't you think?"

Charlie looked genuinely confused. "Really? You think that?" He looked at Don. "You, too?"

Don shrugged. "Maybe a little. But it could be me. I've been sort-of busy myself, lately."

Alan smiled, thinking of Colleen, and felt Charlie sigh beside him. He regarded his son's sad face and hastened to reassure him. "Charlie, you're your own man. You should be with Debbie, if she's who you want. I promise to stick it out until I've won her over!"

Charlie didn't look at either of them. "I guess…I…what I like, what's such a…_relief_…is that she didn't know me, before. You know. Before Martinez. She has no memories of me as a different person, she's never disappointed, or waiting for me to get better. I don't feel any pressure from her."

Don stopped kicking the fire grill. He stared at Charlie and spoke softly. "Buddy…have we made you feel those things? You have to know, we could never be disappointed in you! And pressure? All you should be picking up from me is pride!"

Charlie just reddened, having revealed more than he intended, and Alan stood stiffly and reached back into the cargo area for the sleeping bag he had thrown there earlier. On the way he kissed Charlie's wet head. Pulling at the bag, he grumbled a little. "I don't remember fishing taking this much out of me when I was a younger man. Got to get to bed even earlier, tonight. Charlie, go sit by the fire. You're still cold."

Charlie stood, turned and extricated the sleeping bag, which he threw at an unsuspecting Don – who nonetheless caught it, frowning. Charlie grabbed one handle of the cooler Alan had wrenched into the SUV. He grinned at his father. "If you help, I'm sure we can do this together."

Alan smiled at him warmly, and hoped Charlie understood the layered promises when he grabbed the other end and responded. "Of course we can, son. We can do anything, together."


	8. The Bickersons

**Title: HDTH, Numeral 3: Chinks in the Armor**

**Author: FraidyCat**

**Chapter 8: The Bickersons**

With an afternoon to kill and no access to communication devices or computers, it wasn't long before the boys targeted each other. Alan puttered around the campsite, putting to rights the mess he had created earlier, and reflected. On the one hand, listening to the two bicker and tease each other brought back memories so strong it nearly left him breathless several times. On the other hand, there was a reason he had been happy that they had grown out of that stage. This was fairly annoying.

"I _DID NOT_ break any of the rules, Don! My hiking boots do not have Internet access. They're a clothing item. There were no restrictions on clothing."

Charlie was sitting on the ground near the fire, still cold even though the day was approaching 90 degrees. Don lounged in his shirt sleeves at the picnic table. He drummed his fingers on top. "That's so like you. You do that all the time, Chuck."

Charlie looked up at the hated nickname. "What?"

"_Pretend_ you don't understand something, when we all know you think circles around the rest of us. You knew what the spirit of the rules entailed, and you obviously intended to sneak some hiking in anyway." He suppressed a grin, which Alan noticed, but Charlie was looking at the fire again. Pushing the envelope – as he always did – Don went a step too far. "I wouldn't be surprised if you fell in the river on purpose, just so you could go your own way for awhile."

Alan, who was in the tent rearranging sleeping bags by this time, froze. He was Staying. Right. Here. Where it was safe.

Charlie looked at Don with the full-out kicked puppy eyes, and Don felt himself weakening. "I thought…you said…" His voice dropped to a near-whisper and his shoulders hunched. "I don't have to go hiking. You're right, it's supposed to be a family vacation. I'll go out with you guys tomorrow and…watch from the bank, or something." He ended his speech with a pathetic sneeze, and Don shook his head.

"Damn, Charlie. You are good." Charlie just looked at him quizzically, so Don got up and walked toward the fire. When he was standing over his brother, he spoke gently, risking a set-up. It wouldn't be the first time Charlie had broken down his reserves with the wounded puppy – and then gone in for the kill. "Look, you know I'm kidding, right? I think it's great that you'll get it some hiking. As long as you don't take off by yourself and get lost in all these mountains. You didn't pack your compass, or GPS, did you?"

Charlie shook his head silently, apparently mesmerized by the flames. Don gave up and squatted next to him. "Charlie, really. I was just kidding."

Charlie tore his eyes from the fire and met Don's. Don was nearly blown over backwards at the look in them. It wasn't like when they had first been recuperating from the ordeal with Martinez' family. It wasn't abject fear, and terror. But Don could see pain still lurked there, and sadness; a certain helplessness, and resignation. It occurred to him, as he squatted there held in the tractor beam of his brother's eyes, that he had only seen glimpses of happiness, and joy, over the last few months, when Charlie was with Debbie – or talking about her. He realized with a sinking heart that he had become used to this look in Charlie's eyes. He was further disheartened to understand that he and his father had not welcomed the one person who made it go away.

Charlie finally shrugged. "Sorry," he apologized – for what, Don did not know. "I'm almost warm enough to take a nap."

Alan heard his cue and exited the tent dragging a sleeping bag. "Want to use this for a pillow, son? I could bring out one of the foam mats. If you move back a little from the fire, you can sleep right there."

The flicker of a smile played over Charlie's face, and he used Don's knee for leverage while he stood slowly. He headed for the tent. "Thanks, Dad, but I'll just lay down in the tent for awhile. Is that okay?" He sounded as if he was afraid it actually might not be.

Alan just smiled and handed him the sleeping bag. "Of course it's all right. Your brother is going to help me move the picnic table. I think it would be better over there."

Don stood, protesting, and Charlie allowed a tiny grin before he disappeared into the tent.

………………………………………………………………………………………………

The third time he helped his father move the table, Don sat on the bench to discourage further out-terior decorating. He faced out, toward the dying fire, and studied the embers. "Dad," he said seriously, "I've been thinking about this whole Debbie thing."

Alan stood in front of him, arms crossed over his chest. "What whole Debbie thing? I told Charlie he should keep seeing her. She just warms up slowly. I guess."

Don tilted his head. "Well, yeah, that's possible; although she seemed to hit it off with Charlie right away. Are you at all concerned that it might be something we're doing? Maybe she feels our lack of enthusiasm."

Alan considered, sitting down beside Don. "You think I'm projecting that I still miss Amita, or something? I'll admit, I really hoped they would end up together. I gave up that dream quite reluctantly."

"Not just that," answered Don. "I think we're aware enough to watch out for that sort of thing. Maybe even too much."

Alan frowned. "What do you mean?"

Don tried to make the words come out the way the thoughts were hitting him. "Well, maybe we've concentrated too much on trying not to compare her with Amita, and we haven't really thought about what really scares us."

Alan was getting interested. Don wasn't usually much of one to share his introspections. "Which is?", he encouraged.

Don looked at him. "The last woman we believed was with him. Sure, we found out soon enough that it was all NSA crap, but the fact is that for a while we believed Colleen was his wife. At best he was unhappy with her, and let's face it…his relationship with Colleen and the NSA nearly got him killed. Twice."

Alan shook his head a little in disagreement. "I don't think so. I'm quite fond of Colleen." He suddenly looked a little concerned. "I hope the both of you know that…"

Don quickly reassured him. "We do, Dad; she does. But it took a while to get there, didn't it? To learn to separate her from the NSA and their decisions, and to appreciate that she actually probably kept Charlie alive. I'm just saying, maybe subconsciously we're afraid that Debbie will somehow hurt Charlie, just as the woman who preceded her did. I don't know about you, but I'm not sure how much more of that he can take."

The two sat in silence for a few minutes while Alan thought about Don's words. "You could have a point," he finally conceded. "I just asked myself if I would welcome anyone into Charlie's life, right now, and I have to be honest -- I wouldn't. Not even Amita – that relationship certainly contained pain of its own." His voice broke, a little, and decreased in volume. "I just want him to be happy. Safe." He smiled at Don through blurry eyes. "I've even considered bubble-wrap."

Don snorted as he stretched his arms behind him and let one settle around Alan. "I know what you mean."

Lying in the tent, unable to get quite warm enough to sleep, Charlie snuggled in the sleeping bag. As he shamelessly listened to their conversation, Charlie slowly stopped shivering and began to relax into the down. By the time Alan got to "bubble-wrap", Charlie's eyes were heavy and he felt comfortable. He knew his father and brother would protect him, while he napped in the tent, just as they always had.

With a final, shuddering sigh, Charlie let his eyes close, and slept.


	9. Winner Takes All

**Title: HDTH, Numeral 3: Chinks in the Armor**

**Author: FraidyCat**

**Chapter 9: Winner Takes All**

From the light that seeped into the tent, Charlie could tell he hadn't been sleeping that long, and he was surprised he felt so stiff. He sniffled and then sneezed, and decided he must be feeling the after-affects of that morning's drenching. It was disheartening, since it really wasn't that big a deal. Finally managing to shrug out of the sleeping bag and creak to a stand, Charlie was disgruntled at the idea that he was getting old.

He was only 33, he thought, staggering a little on his trek to the flap of the tent. Figures he would turn out to be a wuss at aging, just like everything else.

When he poked his head out of the tent he felt even worse. From the position of the sun in the sky, he had not been asleep any time at all. Don and Alan sat at the picnic table, engaged in a game of checkers. Don refused to pay chess with either Alan or Charlie, claiming they were too competitive, but he would give his Dad an occasional game of checkers.

"Hey," Charlie greeted, stepping onto the ground from the tent. At least, that's what he had intended to say. Even to his own ears, the sound he made hardly qualified as a word.

He cleared his throat to try again as Don smiled at him over the checkerboard. "Hey, Buddy. I've been going crazy trying to keep Dad from calling an ambulance."

Alan had whipped around from his position facing Don and stood to approach Charlie. Now he tossed a quick look back at his eldest. "That's not true,", he said, at the same time that Charlie demanded to know what was wrong, and who needed an ambulance. Alan refocused his attention on Charlie, and stopped moving a few feet from him. "I was just concerned. You seemed to have a fever, last night."

Charlie yawned and looked even more confused. "Last night? When?"

"When your brother and I went to bed. You seemed a bit congested, and I thought you felt a little warm. You were sleeping so well, though…. How are you feeling today?"

Charlie almost looked for the rabbit hole he had apparently fallen into. "We all went to bed at the same time last night…", he began. He looked toward the table when he heard a chuckle from Don.

"Dude, you've been sleeping almost 24 hours," the older man informed him. "Hair looks it, too."

Charlie's mouth gaped open. He had no memory of the frequent awakenings and sporadic nightmares that had marked his sleep for months. He looked back at his father. "What? It's tomorrow?"

Alan laughed at the look on his face. "In a manner of speaking. Although I prefer to refer to it as 'today'." Alan checked his watch. "Don's right. Almost 24 hours on the dot – it's almost noon."

Charlie shifted, the knowledge suddenly hitting his bladder like a ton of bricks. Still, he divided his attention between them. "But why aren't you fishing?"

Alan rolled his eyes. "Right. We were going to take off and leave you unconscious and alone in a tent all morning." He watched Charlie fidget and felt the spear of a memory, from when Charlie was just a toddler and had to go to the bathroom. It was unexpected, and it almost made him cry. To cover up, he walked quickly into the tent and came out with a rolled towel and Charlie's backpack. "Here. Why don't you go shower and change, while Don helps me get lunch ready?"

Don's eyes raised from the board he had been studying. "Hey! It's his turn! I helped you all day yesterday, and you made me move the table four times!"

"The table is in exactly the position it started in," Charlie pointed out on his way past Don and into the general campground.

Charlie smiled as he heard Don still complaining. "No kidding, genius."

………………………………………………………………………………………………

After his shower, Charlie wandered back into the campsite bearing fish. He approached the fire grill where Alan was squatting to check on a pot of stew that he had made and frozen at home to bring along. His sons had teased him that the last thing they would want on a fishing trip that promised weather into the 100-degree mark would be stew, but Charlie's stomach growled loudly as soon as he caught the familiar smell.

Alan stirred, replaced the lid and stood, smiling at Charlie. "Changed your mind about the stew, didn't you? Nothing like fresh air and outdoor life to make a man hungry."

Don, still at the table, grunted and frowned at the checkerboard. "Outdoor life? How about unconscious life?"

Charlie refused to look at or acknowledge him, and instead lifted his hand to show Alan the plastic bag of fish. "I passed some folks packing up to leave, and they didn't want to smell fish all the way home. These are filleted already and everything."

Alan looked at the bag appreciatively. "What a nice gesture. This way we can still have fish for dinner. Go ahead and put them in the…red…no, the green cooler. I think there's still some room and a lot of ice in that one."

Charlie stopped at the doorway of the tent long enough to toss his backpack inside, then did as he was instructed. Once the fish were settled into their new home, he sat down opposite Don and looked at the board. "Dad is kicking your ass," he observed.

Don looked up with a snarl and protested. "I could still take this game, Chuck!" His eyes took on an evil gleam. "Since those fish are already filleted, how can you be sure it's not really somebody's pet koi?"

Charlie's eyes narrowed. He leaned forward a little. "Care for a little arm wrestling match, G-man? Or are you afraid your little brother can pin you to this table faster than you can forfeit that game of checkers?"

Don was more than up for the challenge. Without a word he dumped the checkers into the nearby empty box, and placed the folded board on top. He moved forward a little himself, planting his elbow firmly on the table and flexing the bicep under his t-shirt. "You're on, Chalk-Boy. Loser does dishes."

Alan was standing at the end of the table now, doing his best to suppress his happy dance. Now _this_…_this_ was a family vacation. "Just so we all understand," he commented drily, "you're both doing dishes, since no-one is helping me get lunch."

Charlie tilted his head sideways towards Alan, but didn't move his eyes from Don's. "Fair," he noted. "New bet."

Don didn't blink, but continued to flex his bicep intimidatingly. "What?"

Charlie smiled slowly. "Loser TPs Lou's cabin at midnight."

Don blanched, but he didn't back down. He flexed his fingers and found his most menacing witness-interrogation voice. "Lock-and-load, Mutant. Lock-and-load."


	10. A Fork in the Road

**Title: HDTH, Numeral 3: Chinks in the Armor**

**Author: FraidyCat **

**Chapter 10: A Fork in the Road**

In the end, it all worked out for the best.

Suppressing his laughter, tailing his sulking brother through the quiet campground at midnight with the famous digital camera, Don wasn't thinking about final results. He was thinking about sending out his first-ever Holiday card – provided he got just the right incriminating evidence against Charlie. He was also thinking that the chalk Charlie used must be fairly heavy. The match had not been the slam-dunk he was anticipating. Not that he had let Charlie in on that, of course.

After dinner the two brothers had driven into the nearest city – well, "village" was probably a more apt description – and paid three times the going rate for a 24-pack of bathroom tissue. Alan had stayed at the camp, claiming he didn't want to know a thing about what they were planning. They had gone to bed early, as most of the rest of the fishermen had, but Don set his watch alarm to make sure Charlie got up at the appropriate time. The professor had muttered and stumbled groggily around the tent, tripping twice over their father, before he finally left to make good on his debt. Don had given him exactly 30 seconds before he snuck out of his own sleeping bag, fully clothed with his shoes on, grabbed Charlie's digital and prepared to keep his tracking skills sharp.

He stood partially sheltered in a grove of trees and watched Charlie work with a finesse that momentarily quieted him. Obviously, Charlie hadn't been kidding when he joked that he did more than study at Princeton. They would have to talk about this. Don knew that the click of the shutter would give him away in the still night, so he raised the camera and waited for just the right moment – he might only get one chance at this.

It took a few days to straighten out the sequence of events.

Looking through the camera, Don saw the drooling fangs at the same time that he heard the growl and felt a weight on his chest. No longer concerned with discovery, a strangled "Hey!" escaped him – as did the camera, which had the misfortune of cracking into three pieces when it landed on a rock. As Don stumbled backwards, he raised his arms over his face in a self-protective motion. Gigantic paws hit his arms immediately, and the dog's impressive weight backed Don right into the tree he had been using for shelter. "Down!", he yelled, wishing he knew more about how to dog whisper. "Back the hell off!"

The dog's bark, close to his ear, was almost deafening – and certainly paralyzing. The cabin's yard was suddenly flooded with light, and Don heard the unmistakable, no-nonsense command of Lou: "Kitten. Heel."

Don felt the weight of the dog leave at once. He peeked through a crack in his arms to see the butt of the most immense Great Dane he had ever seen in his life. A Great Dane named "Kitten", who could sneak up on a person in the dark like nobody's business. And best of all, a well-trained Great Dane, who didn't need to be called twice. When Don started breathing again, he realized two things. The first was that he had _stopped_ breathing, at some point, and was now slightly dizzy. The second was that he hadn't heard a peep out of Charlie.

Worried that "Kitten" had a less friendly companion, Don dropped his arms and saw that this was indeed true. Kitten's companion was Lou, and she had a double-barrel shotgun buried in Charlie's chest.

His brother stood motionless, arms raised, a roll of toilet paper in one hand. The end was fluttering in the slight breeze. Don stopped worrying about Kitten and started for Charlie in a dead run. "NO! Let him go, it was just a prank! Charlie!"

Lou eyed him over the shotgun. "Just stop your ass right there and tell me what the hell is going on, here."

Somehow, Don did. The sites of the campground closest to the cabin were belching people, disgruntled fishermen awakened by the noise and light. One of them was the Ohio Attorney General who had gotten them out of their first predicament with Lou. Even he was no help now, however. After the campground owner had lowered the shotgun and allowed Don to stand next to his brother, she had still called the sheriff.

By the time a deputy arrived almost 45 minutes later, Lou had let Don and Charlie sit at a picnic table near the cabin, and was glaring at them from a distance. Don started to speak to his brother when Kitten bounded up again out of nowhere, and Don stood to place himself between the dog and Charlie. To his complete amazement, Charlie made a smacking noise with his lips, summoning the creature. "Come on, boy. Comeer, Kitten."

Don stood with his mouth open when Kitten skidded to a lumbering stop at Charlie's feet and fell to the ground as if he'd been shot, rolling over on his back. When he kicked his legs in the air, they were almost as high as Charlie's head. Charlie laughed and leaned over a little to rub the beast's belly. Kitten squirmed with delight, and Don dropped, boneless, onto the bench.

Charlie patted the dog solidly on the ribs a few times, and straightened back up. He saw Don, who was still speechless, grinned and shrugged. "You know I always wanted a dog. I used to pick out friends to play with based on whether or not they had a dog."

Don rubbed his hand through his hair and inhaled deeply. "Holy shit, Charlie. I'm waiting for you to dissolve into a quivering mound of jelly, and you're playing with a Teradactyl." Charlie laughed, and Don went on, a little disturbed that he was the only one upset. "She was holding you at gunpoint. _Gunpoint!_"

His voice shook, and the smile dropped off Charlie's face. He imagined for a moment what it must have been like for Don to see him in that situation, again. He reached out and almost touched Don, but pulled back at the last second. "I'm sorry," he said, sincerely. "You must have been terrified. The shotgun wasn't loaded, I could see that all along – thanks to your firearms training, by the way. But I could hear the dog behind me, and you yelling, and so I froze." His face fell further, and he looked miserably at Kitten, who was now sleeping at his feet. "I'm sorry," he repeated.

Don was simultaneously proud of Charlie for keeping his wits about him, and angry enough to sock him in the eye for scaring him to death. He wasn't sure what to say, so he sat, and shuddered a few times, and said nothing.

The flashing lights of the patrol car had succeeded in awakening the rest of the camp – including Alan. It took almost an hour for Alan, the Attorney General, and the Deputy to talk Lou into not pressing charges. What finally did it was the Attorney General's description of how much time she would have to be away from the river, and in court -- all over a vandalism misdemeanor, and a trespassing count against an FBI agent. It was a mutual decision that the Eppes would leave the campground and not seek a refund. Somehow, the Deputy got her to let them wait until the sun came up, so they could see to pack.

In the end, it all worked out for the best.

It was hard to imagine that happening, though, as the three men sat silently at their campfire, waiting for the first glimpse of daylight. It was difficult to feel anything but guilt at ruining their Dad's vacation, as he refused to meet their eyes and didn't even attempt to supervise exactly how everything was packed. They all worked independently of each other, and Don dreaded the long trip home, over two weeks ahead of schedule.

While Charlie was dousing the fire and Alan was shoving the last of their things haphazardly into the back of the SUV, Don walked to the driver's side to warm up the vehicle. When he opened the door, he spied their "emergency-use-only" cell phone, complete with the battery pack Charlie had rigged to keep it charged. As he lifted it all up to place it in the back seat, he noted four calls from Megan.

"Vacation's over, anyway," he thought glumly, and listened to the voice mail she had left.

Two minutes later, Don came charging around the back of the SUV, nearly knocking over Alan. He grabbed his father to steady him, and called loudly enough for Charlie to hear. "Hey! Guys! We don't have to go home, yet!"

Alan looked at him as if he was crazy, and Charlie came a little closer. "What are you talking about?", asked his brother. "Where else can we go? You said yourself, everything will be full."

Don held up the phone and smiled. "Megan called last night, and left voice mail. She said that place you tried to get us reservations, the resort on the coast…"

"Bandon?", supplied Charlie.

Don nodded. "Yeah. The cheese place. Anyway, they tried to call you at home, yesterday afternoon. They had a last-minute cancellation for a week, starting tonight, and you were next on the waiting list. They said you could have 24 hours to get back to them, before they put the rooms into the vacancy system."

Alan roughly grabbed the phone, held it out to Charlie, and spoke for the first time in almost two hours. "What are you waiting for? I told you, the phone is for emergencies only. This is an emergency. Our vacation is at stake."

Charlie smiled in genuine relief that Alan was speaking again, and still willing to spend time with his sons. He came closer, hand out to take the phone.

That's when Kitten ran coltishly into the scene, sliding to a halt right in front of him, and Charlie toppled head-over-dog, landing in a heap at Alan's feet. Alan and Don both exclaimed and rushed to help him, but then stopped as they both heard a sound becoming more familiar, but nonetheless treasured.

Charlie was giggling, pushing at Kitten, who was licking his face. He reached up a hand. "Ph-ph-phone," he gasped. "Kitten, let me up." He sat up slowly, using the dog's solid body for assistance, and still laughing, looked up at Don. "So what's the damn number?"


	11. Lessons of the Sea

**Title: HDTH, Numeral 3: Chinks in the Armor**

**Author: FraidyCat**

**Chapter 11: Lessons of the Sea**

Alan was more than comforted about losing out on fishing the river when Charlie promised, during the trip to Bandon, to try and get him on a charter ocean fishing trip. Alan declared that another emergency, and let Charlie have the phone, again. By the time they arrived, Charlie had secured three spaces on a boat going out in two days, a feat nothing short of miraculous given the fact that it was high season for tourists. Alan had sat in the back seat and kept up a quiet conversation with Don, who was driving, but Don still caught most of Charlie's actions. His brother made no less than seven calls, and promised to fact-check another professor's journal submission, in trade for Dr. Laramie pulling strings with his cousin. Don was quietly impressed when Charlie triumphantly informed their father of the arrangements and then immediately fell asleep; especially considering the fact that the one time Charlie had been on a boat that went far enough out on the ocean to fish, he had been sick for three days.

They arrived in Bandon around lunchtime, and Alan was completely ready to forgive Charlie for the TP incident when he saw the oceanside resort – and the golf course next to it. Don was actually happier about the golf than the fishing himself, and they stopped at the clubhouse to schedule a tee time for the next morning before they even checked in to the resort.

After they had unloaded their gear into a nice, ocean-front bungalow that made Don worry a little about what his share of the vacation would end up costing, they took off again for Old Towne Bandon. Walking the quaint streets, they found a small sandwich shop and stopped for lunch. Waiting for their food, Alan beamed at his sons. "This is wonderful. If we hadn't been kicked out of the campground, we might have missed out on all of this. Not that I'm encouraging that sort of behavior from grown men, mind you."

Charlie smiled around the straw in his soda, then set the glass down. "Don't order dessert," he instructed the men. "There's a candy shop down here somewhere. Larry's Aunt Louise sends him these delightful things made out of cranberries every year for Christmas. I guess they also have killer fudge. Larry was the one who first suggested Bandon when I was making vacation plans. He's never been here either, but he Googled it once when he was eating candy…"

Alan looked slightly affronted. "I'm sure my homemade fudge is better. Besides, Larry's Aunt Louise lives in San Diego, doesn't she?"

Charlie suppressed a grin. "Right. She vacationed here once almost 30 years ago, and now she orders the stuff every year from a catalog, or on the 'Net, or something. Candy and cheese. We'll have to check out the cheese factory, too." He shot a quick look at Don, then studied the table. "I'm reserving judgment on the fudge."

Luckily, the food arrived then, interrupting Alan's insulted tirade about ungrateful sons. They managed to finish up in Old Towne, visit the cheese factory and get back to the resort and onto the beach outside their bungalow in plenty of time for the sunset. Charlie had grown progressively quiet during the day, and on the beach he wandered off in a different direction from Alan and Don.

They stood near the surf and watched him head upshore for a pile of driftwood. "Maybe he's just tired," Alan suggested. "It's been a long day."

Don nodded and agreed. "Yeah…. There's something…healing, about this, too. You know? We have to let him heal."

Alan looked back at the sea. "The ocean, you mean? I agree. It's so powerful, it helps put things in perspective, I think. Yet it's so soothing, too. The constancy of it, how it never stops."

Don followed his eyes and smiled, draping an arm around his father's shoulders lightly. "I can see that. But actually, I was referring to a family's love – and for the same reasons. I hope this vacation is reminding him how powerful, and how soothing, family can be. Constant, and never-ending."

Alan looked at him, a little surprised. "Donnie. That's beautiful."

Don either reddened in embarrassment, or was already getting a sunburn. "Must've read it in a Hallmark card somewhere."

…………………………………………………………………………………………

Even though they were playing with rented clubs, the beauty of the seaside course made golfing such a success that they unanimously agreed to set another tee time for the day after their fishing excursion. Alan, by far the most experienced and practiced golfer, came close to shooting par. Don had not played in over a year, and he was enough strokes over Alan that it showed. Charlie…well, Charlie had never really taken to golf. He played because it was something they could do together, something that everyone else could be better at than he was. Although his superior mathematics abilities made it possible for him to easily keep track of his score, Don and Alan assured him by the 7th hole that he no longer had to. Frankly, it would be a challenge for either of them to count that high.

They had chosen to walk the course, and Charlie was limping by the time they reached the 18th hole. No-one mentioned it, but they took it easy the rest of that day. When it was time for dinner, they found a nice restaurant recommended by the resort. Large glass windows faced the ocean, and it was fancy enough that it would have had a dress code back in L.A.. But everybody here was on vacation, so the Eppes did not feel out of place at all. Best, it was within easy walking distance of the resort. Although Don had offered to drive in case Charlie needed it, his brother had quickly assured him it wasn't necessary. So they consumed an entire bottle of wine with their meal, an Oregon-made cabernet that was surprisingly good.

The meal was relaxing as they watched the sun set over the ocean through the windows. The food was excellent. The next day, on the charter boat, Don felt badly for Charlie when he watched him offer his filet mignon and lobster back up to the sea. They could all fish, since the charter provided poles and tackle, but there was little chance of that happening. Don and Alan reeled in a huge tuna between them, which the owner assured them they could have canned and shipped back home. Charlie spent the trip stuffed to the gills with Dramamine, alternating between sleeping on the cushioned seating benches in the stern, and practically hurling himself over the side when he would awake with bile already in his mouth.

Don and Alan posed for a photo with their fish before it was marked for the cannery. They faced the stern, where Charlie again leaned over the rail. Alan, having such a good time, felt a little guilty. "Guess it wasn't a fluke, that first time," he noted. Don smiled widely for the Captain's camera. "I just hope he's not chumming for sharks," he deadpanned, breaking Alan into a fit of laughter that the camera caught perfectly. The resulting photo would hang in a place of prominence in their home for years.

To his credit, Charlie wasn't sick for three days this time. Only two. He stayed in the bungalow the rest of the day after their return, moaning and tossing so miserably on his bed that even Don could not leave him there alone. Dinner that night was a pizza delivery. While their intentions had been good, the smell soon drove Charlie back to the bathroom, and father and son regarded each other over mushrooms and olives with more than a hint of guilt.

The next day, Charlie convinced them to set him up with a 6-pack of 7-Up and a box of crackers, leave him at the resort, and keep their tee time. By now both men were thoroughly sunburned, despite liberal applications of sunblock. While they enjoyed the day of golf enough to set up yet another tee time for the next morning, hoping Charlie could join them, they were more than happy to find some take-out in town for their combination lunch/dinner. When they arrived back at the resort, Charlie definitely looked better after another day of recuperation. Alan walked down to the resort lobby and checked out some DVDs to play on the machine in their room, and they stayed in all evening munching crackers and listening to Don point out Bruce Willis's shooting errors in all three "Die Hard" films.

After the next day's golf game – during which Charlie played well enough that they actually let him keep score – they drove to the charter dock to check on their tuna, had an early dinner at a restaurant in town, and returned to the resort. So many consecutive days of fresh air lulled Alan and Don to sleep as they sat in loungers on the porch of their bungalow.

Don woke up when it was almost sunset. He stretched, and looked around, smiling at his still-sleeping father on the other side of the porch. Looking toward the sea, he could just make out Charlie's curly head in the shelter of the driftwood. His brother was again sitting on the large log he had claimed as his own the last few days, and Don stood quietly and went to join him.

Charlie's eyes were closed as he listened to the crash of the waves against the rocks, and he was startled to feel someone sit next to him. Don felt his body jerk and reached out a hand to keep him from slipping off the log. "Hey. Sorry. It's just me."

Charlie looked at him and smiled, relieved. He looked back toward the ocean. "I was just thinking about Debbie," he admitted.

Don nodded, looking to the water himself. "I know what you mean. I'd like to bring Colleen here. Maybe next summer."

"Nice honeymoon location," Charlie pointed out. "You could make an honest woman out of her."

Don smiled, knowing it was a joke, but almost dislodged Charlie from the log again when he answered honestly. "I asked her to marry me before her transfer even came through. She's the one who's not ready."

Charlie looked at him in shock. "What?"

Don shrugged. "Seems you and I aren't the only ones with issues. It's a standing offer, she knows that. I can wait." His voice was determined. "I _will_ wait."

Charlie looked back at the ocean, still a little nonplussed. "Wow. Have you told Dad?"

Don laughed. "Are you kidding? He would hound her every minute of every day."

Charlie smiled. He spoke tentatively. "Aren't you…don't you worry? About her job, I mean?"

Don stopped smiling. "Put it this way. Since I fell in love with Colleen, I have a lot more understanding of how difficult I've made it for you and Dad. Even Mom. And a lot more appreciation of your support."

The brothers were silent for awhile. Then Don decided to get back to the original subject. "So, are you in love with Debbie?"

Charlie answered slowly. "Maybe. I'm not sure, yet. She's great, and I hope you guys see that soon. She's smart, and interested in so many things. She's so…eclectic, diverse. Two of her favorite things? The symphony – and bull riding." Don laughed, and Charlie continued. "Plus, in the time I've known her, I don't think we have ever spent time together when I have not ended up laughing hysterically at least once. She is so naturally funny, and has such a quick wit…"

Don smiled. "Laughing is good. Beats the alternative. Are you sure you don't know whether or not you love her? Sounds pretty clear to me."

Charlie looked at him, and Don could just barely see his serious expression in the growing darkness. "I'm sure of this. Much as I would like to share some serious vacation time with her, this has been perfect. Being with you, and Dad. Who knows if we'll ever get another chance to do something like this together, again? I wouldn't trade a minute of the last two weeks." His face soured a little. "Well, maybe some of the time leaning over the boat railing."

Don laughed again, and scooted closer on the driftwood so that their shoulders were touching. "You're right. Dad won't be here forever, and if we learned anything this year – it's that none of us are guaranteed tomorrow."

Charlie's eyes were drawn to the water again, as though by a magnet. "I don't think I will ever be who I was before," he said slowly. "It's hard for me to be around people, sometimes. I know things now that I can't…un-learn. That's what life is. A process. All the experiences we survive contribute to who we are."

Don nodded, and pulled back a little so that he could snake an arm around Charlie. He squeezed his thin shoulders as he spoke. "Some things you will always be," he promised. "You will always be my brother. You will always be Alan's and Margaret's son. I still feel Mom...and I know you do, too. That's because we will always be your family. Count on that. It's constant, and never-ending."

Charlie smiled into the dark and patted Don on the knee a couple of times before letting his hand rest there. "I love you too," he whispered.

The brothers sat, and listened to the waves they could no longer see, and heard the power.

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END

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**A/N: I hope you don't mind. I had to give everyone a little break, and re-connect them. (Plus, Don and Charlie are holding my cats hostage. This is the ransom.)**


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